


dandelion wishes

by hamletmustdie



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Crush, oh god so much pining, zim pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-13 16:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21180251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamletmustdie/pseuds/hamletmustdie
Summary: 'You’re always gonna wanna take over earth.' Well that wasn’t entirely true; Zim was becoming bored by that idea, had in fact, not thought of it very closely in a while. But really, what bothered him most about a statement like that was the other side of it; 'I’m not always gonna wanna stop you.'The idea makes him angry, light headed. Sick.





	dandelion wishes

Zim isn’t sure what this feeling is. He’s certain it’s fatal. It must be. He paces his labs, tight as a bowstring, and mutters to himself. He’s angry. Granted, he’s always angry, but this feels somehow worse. It’s gotten under his skin. He kicks a neglected toy, something greasy and matted of Gir’s that should’ve been put away hours ago. His fists ball up and he shouts, “GIR!”

The robot appears from a vent in the wall. Zim’s too occupied to wonder how or why he’s in there, why he appeared so suddenly, is he watching him again from hiding spots? Sometimes he thinks Gir is trying to kill him.

“Clean all of this up, IMMEDIATELY!” He gestures around himself wildly. All of this is one toy and nothing else but Gir’s eyes flash red as he salutes, and hops out of the vent, procuring a mop from nowhere. He sets to work. Zim doesn’t hear the reckless slosh of water as he paces. He’s been on a mean streak with Gir all week. He’s already demanded he scrub the entirety of their living room, clean all his drawings from the kitchen walls, and wipe down all of the wiring in the ceiling. Gir’s agreed to all of it; Zim’s certain none of it will actually get done. He mutters something that Gir is useless, it’s a travesty an Irken as superior as himself has been graced with such a fool of a robot. Gir asks if he prefers rocky road ice cream or lint flavor. Zim doesn’t answer.

It’s likely that perhaps all this meanness has less to do with Gir and more to do with the footage on the screen. Three screens. No, eight. Eight screens play footage of the stupid Dib-human, footage from skool, from home, from a portion of his bedroom. It’s creepy. It’s invasive, but he is not called Elite Irken Invader Zim for nothing, no? He glimpses a particular moment in one of the screens, and it makes his antennae perk up in recognition. Zim wonders if this infatuation is some unknown alien illness. Maybe he’s picked it up from a human? He shudders; just the idea is enough to make his head swim.

They’re in hi-skool now and the Dib is wretchedly taller than Zim, and so Zim decides that that is why he is so fascinated. That’s why he follows him ceaselessly, and that is why the organs within his tiny body shore up his throat when he speaks to him.

“What are you staring at me for this time, space boy?” Four days earlier; the Dib has marched over to him from his table in the skool cafeteria. Dib still sits with his sister. Zim still sits alone.

“I’ve no idea what NONSENSE you’re going on about, _DIB-HUMAN_.” But Zim can feel the heat in his cheeks. He thinks it’s a fever. Maybe Dib poisoned him? But how could he have slipped anything into Zim’s food? He doesn’t eat at skool. And Zim’s far too observant not to notice anyway.

“You’ve been acting so weird Zim, don’t think I haven’t noticed. I’ll figure out whatever the hell it is you’re concocting this time. Don’t think you’ll get away with it-”

“Insolent FOOL child, Zim is concocting NOTHING. And if I was, you would be the last to know about it, you pathetic, squirming pile of flesh.”  
Zim loves adjectives. Dib is glaring at him the rest of lunchtime, and Zim begins to find that glare a little too searing. He skulks off to the lockers, feigning annoyance. Really his spooch is beating a million times a minute. Really he just can’t hold eye contact with Dib for too long anymore.  
He isn’t entirely sure when this began.

Zim turns away from the screen, to another.  
This one was at a party, a month earlier.

Zim hadn’t been invited. Neither had Dib. But Dib had heard that Zim was going and so he’d come, too. They ended up arguing all the way to the roof of the party-holders house, Dib cradling a vile earth-substance called beer while Zim had found several juice boxes in the fridge. Together, they’d sat on the roof and talked. Lately, their arguments had become this. They’d faded into actual, semi-civil conversations. It was startling to know how much they had in common; Dib did not like any of his classmates, for the most part. Neither did Zim. Dib was desperate for his father’s approval, though he claimed he really didn’t care what he thought. Zim didn’t understand what had made Dib’s defenses fall so well; he knew it had something to do with alcohol. Why was the human so stupid to allow something like that to happen? He should always be on the defense; Zim was always wedging for an opportunity to topple him.  
And yet Zim hadn’t tried doing that yet.

But nonetheless; there they were. The sky was black and vast, just how Zim liked it; like an open doorway in a tight room. An escape. If he wanted, he could hop into his cruiser and fly off. Never come back. The human was leaning back on his hands and talking about his sister. His father.

“He’s just such a dick and he doesn’t even notice half the time. You know he leaves for work for days on end-sometimes weeks. Once he didn’t come home for almost a month. When he finally fucking came back, he acted like I was the weirdo for being pissed about it. Something about independence being a valuable Membrane trait. Whatever the hell that means...”

“Why don’t you just kill him?” Zim had muttered it halfheartedly if only because that seemed totally reasonable to him. Dib had laughed. A sudden, warm laugh that seemed to begin from the middle of his chest.

“I can’t kill my dad, Zim, are you insane?”

“You are insane for allowing him to live this long, Dib-stupid,”  
That had just made Dib laugh more. His eyes had been closed and he hadn’t caught Zim staring. Staring. Humans were filthy when they emoted. Maybe that’s what that feeling had been. Disgust.

“Why don’t you ever go back home?” Dib had asked next. The question had caught Zim off guard.

“I go home every day! Is that earth-poison ruining your pathetic brain?”

“No, not your base,” Dib tilted his head. “Home. Wherever it is the hell you came from…” he trailed off, watching Zim… then he looked away, out toward the sky. Zim followed his gaze. “What’s it called again? Irk? I dunno. I’d be homesick, is all. Or maybe not. Space has gotta be better than here,"

“Anywhere is better than this dirtball,” Zim muttered, but now, he isn’t sure how true that is. He misses speaking his own tongue. He misses purple skies and pink, dust-covered dunes. The towering cities in Irk, the constant air travel. But if he thinks too much on it, Zim begins to realize Irk, Earth, Vort, Mars, and any other number of planets are all the same. On every one of them he is always Zim.

He was wondering what exactly a thought like that meant when Dib sighed, added, “I’d get lonely,”

“Stupid fool. Irkens don’t bother with such useless emotions.”  
But really Zim had no grand plan for this party. He’d heard students talking about it all week. Had threatened the address from a fellow student the day before. Sitting next to Dib he realized all the kids were growing up, he’d learned nothing about Earth that would ensure his victory, and the Tallest’s didn’t call anymore. Dib didn’t know this. In a way, Zim didn’t know this either; he was still waiting for them to congratulate him on having sacrificed so much time away from Irk, all for the empire. Time passed on Earth the way it never had on Irk. On Irk he was a soldier, a scientist, whatever the empire needed him to be, and he didn’t worry about years or days or months, just assignments and missions. He would graduate from one station to the next and could expect a long survival via his PAK as he succeeded and was upgraded. He could expect a glorious and brilliant death via battle, as any good Irken would wish to go. There wasn’t aging, there wasn’t much growth. There were undervalued PAKs on failed Irkens or violent death. Or deactivation. But he didn’t think about that...

Zim pauses before the screen, realizes he’s standing too close, realizes he’s at home, deep within his base and not on that cold roof a month ago. This is a memory; etched into his PAK, uploaded for him to rewatch, forever.  
Zim shakes his head; where was he?  
Oh yes. This horrible new feeling towards the Dib human.

He’s afraid this feeling might be called_ “a crush”_.

He tries to distract himself, moves on to various projects, chases Gir around the house insisting he must be cleaned. He pushes away the monitors and spends the evening meticulously checking his PAK for poor wiring. He finds a lot of it. In Algebra just the other day, Zim had received a note meant for the Dib from another student, confessing feelings called love. Zim sat right behind Dib; usually he was throwing things at his massively sized head. Zim had torn it to shreds and sneered at the girl behind him who’d passed it in the first place. It wasn’t as if Zim, almighty Irken invader who despised EVERY HUMAN, felt similarly to her. Of course not. Irkens didn’t feel such putrid, filthy, useless things. But it bothered him, another human looking at Dib the way she did. It made him feel gross. And violent. Especially violent.  
  


At skool the next day, Zim is distracted. His head hurts from all his intense berating and concentrating the night before. At lunchtime, he sits. He stares. Completely lost in his own head. Then he is blinking as a figure stops just before him.

Zim looks up.

“Are you- God I can’t believe I’m asking this but- are you alright?” Dib squints as if it hurts to ask. Zim blinks, realizes he’s been leaning his cheek into his gloved hand, staring. Staring at the Dib. And Dib’s approached him about it. He’s leaning down so Zim can really face him eye to eye. “Your eyes are like, glazed over, Zim, it’s-

“What do you want?” His mind flounders and it’s the first thing he can think to snap.

“Nothing?” Dib raises a brow, “You just- sorta weren’t answering. And usually, you love to answer. You looked spaced out-”

“Zim was NO SUCH THING. I was simply, ehh, IGNORING YOU, horrible EARTHLING.” Pointing, accusing. Dib starting, surprised, rolling his eyes.  
Oh, he was so bad at this. Zim thinks he has a headache; he’s dwelling on this when Dib leans an inch closer.

“Are you sick?”

Zim starts, “Why would I be sick? Did you poison m-”

Dib reaches out, touches his forehead. Three seconds later, he pulls the hand away, “You’re sorta warm-”

“WHY DID YOU PUT YOUR PUTRID HAND AGAINST ZIM’S HEAD-” Zim leaps onto the cafeteria table, shrieking, “WHAT ARE YOU PLANN-”

“Jesus Zim, chill out for once,” The look of confusion and concern fades to annoyance. “Sorry for being remotely concerned,”

“Zim doesn’t need your concern,”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Dib stomps off. Zim reaches, touches the space on his forehead.  
Maybe it is a fever. If it isn’t, maybe it’s… A hot flash?  
It can’t be blushing. Because if it’s blushing…

Zim flees the cafeteria and wanders the halls until class begins again.

At the end of their final period, Zim lingers as the students leave to speak to the teacher. Miss Bitters, to be precise. No matter how much older they got, she has always been their homeroom teacher. Even though this was a different skool. Even though this was a different district. Nonetheless.

“Miss Bitters,” Zim tries to look indifferent, uninterested, “what is a human, ehh- a crush, exactly?”

“A crush?” she repeats, deadpan, scowling. Zim nods. He’s overheard the word in skool. Sometimes when he’s bothering the other students, they tell him to bug off and go bother his “boyfriend”, Dib. Zim is still unsure of this word but he doesn’t like the way they say it. He doesn’t like how vehemently he denies understanding their meaning. “Are you really asking me this, Zim?”

“Of course I am,” Zim hisses back, “I demand to know the meaning of this horrible word,”

“Horrible indeed,” Miss Bitters somehow squints harder at him, “that word is used when one of you foolish children develop insipid feelings for one another. As if it isn’t useless to feel something like that in a dying world such as our own. Now go away, I can’t stand the sight of you outside of class time.”

He avoids Dib the rest of the skool day. Dodges him in the halls. He even leaves early if only to avoid having to sit near him on the bus. None of the other kids sit with either of them and the bus is too full for either to have his own seat. So they’re always side by side, bickering, arguing or… Comparing technology. Zim thinks human computers and laptops are inferior, but Dib gets his father’s tech before it’s released to the public, and it’s always a little more similar to Irken technology than Zim would like. And it does, admittedly, have some interesting and unique uses. Sometimes they just mutter about class. Once, when Zim lamented that he didn’t understand an English prompt (poetry, creative writing he struggled with the most; there were no sonnets in Invader training) Dib had claimed it was far simpler than Zim had thought. He’d made an offhand comment he’d help Zim if he bothered to show up at his house. Zim had accepted. They’d sat together on Dib’s bed, doing homework. Zim had managed to forget, for far longer than he liked to think on, that they were supposed to be enemies.  
Those feelings, then, had resembled something like friendship. He wasn’t sure when they’d developed into something far more constricting.

“_COMPUTER_!” Zim stands in his base again, hands on his hips. “Scan my PAK for these, _romance_-_y_ feelings,” he makes dramatic air quotes, feels his skin prickle in disgust. Waits for the light to beam down and hold over him. It does, and the computer thinks while he taps his foot, impatient and anxious. No, not anxious, because he doesn’t have a crush, he just really really really wants to eliminate these distractions from mankind’s inevitable destruction. Ah yes. It’s exactly-

“It would appear you are experiencing what is called a _CRUSH_, in Earth terms-”

“ARGH then what are the _CURES_ for this ailment?!” Zim grabs at his antennae, feeling frantic. The computer hums in thought. Is that sarcasm he picks up in its tone? How does a cold, unfeeling Irken-machine even have a tone?

“A _CURE_ for a _CRUSH_ might include asking the subject of affection-”

“_AFFECTION_?!”

“-out on a date.”

Zim’s claws grip his face in terror. “A DATE?!” he cries- then squints. “What is a “_date_”?

“A date is an edible, sweet fruit of the palm family on Earth. Or, it is a social activity between two humans who like each other,”  
Zim feels sick, horrified, as the computer lists off things that might take place on a date. Holding hands. Sitting together. Talking together. Perhaps even- just maybe- _kissing_-

Zim scowls, kicks something across the lab, and fumes to himself, fists clenched at his sides. How pathetic! An Invader likes no one! He can hardly stand his fellow Irkens! And to feel this way towards an enemy, it’s, _it’s_...!!  
… Unavoidable, now. Zim crosses his arms tightly in defeat. What can he do? An idea springing to mind, he whirls and demands the computer to scan him again. To zero in on the feeling, find where they dwell within his PAK. Once done, he’ll have them removed, torn out like a splinter. Gir keeps him company as he works, amongst televisions and candy wrappers. His computer warns that feelings aren’t like physical injuries. They spread, they’re vague, they’re difficult to center in on. Zim tells it he knows what he’s doing. The computer tells him he doesn’t. Zim threatens to tear out it's wiring. The computer isn’t so intimidated by that, but compiles, finally.

Later, his PAK is open and in an organized mess on a table. He works most of the feelings out of his system himself; he can feel the twinge of them remaining even after his computer ordered a purge.

“_Computer_!”

“_Whaat_?”

Zim wears wide goggles and wields a screwdriver-looking tool. “Show me the Dib’s bedroom!”  
A monitor crackles to life. The Dib is on his stomach reading a book. His phone buzzes. Strange, because Zim didn’t just text him. Who else might he keep contact with?  
Zim watches Dib smile, respond quickly. He imagines a girl some miles away, in her own room. Grinning and giggling and telling the human stupid romantic lies.  
He looks away and works at some wiring in his PAK. They look like a million miles of worms looped over and over and over again. Intricate, delicate, and complex.

“Computer!”

“What _NOW_.”

“Erase all current footage of the Dib human!”

“All of it?”

“Yes, all of it.”

“That’s over 500,000 hours of footage, maste-”

“Did I _ask_, computer? ERASE IT!”  
There’s a stubborn mutter as a counter of sorts appears on his monitor; a long bar declares already 20% of said data gone. Zim looks pointedly from it, gazing down into his PAK.  
Gir runs past his chair, shrieking. The glint of glass makes Zim turn, and he finds Gir is wearing a pair of glasses. Dib’s glasses. They’d stolen a pair some months ago. A miracle they’d yet to be destroyed. Dib’s prescription came from his father’s Labs and they kept their secrets well, but it was just a pair of glasses, and really who cared.

“MASTER! Do I look like Mary?” Gir has thrown on a black towel from the kitchen. He spins in a circle and bestows himself before Zim. Zim glares.

“If you were uglier, then perhaps you would, now get out of my sight. Don’t ever speak of “_MARY_” again.”

“Aww, are you two fightin’ agaaaain?”

“We’re ALWAYS fighting Gir! Dib is our enemy. You know this,”

“When’s she gonna be here?”

Zim cringes and glances at a monitor displaying his front yard. The gnomes are still; watching, watching. “He’s not coming, Gir-”

“YAAAY I’ll go make dinner then!” In a half-fatherly, half-wild sounding voice, Gir shrieks and runs off. The glasses clatter off his head and lay on the tile.  
Zim tries to scrape himself for optimism. He's Zim and this mopiness will taper off to newfound confidence and genius. If he’s successful here, he’ll realize he doesn’t actually care that much. A side glance and Dib is lying on his back, still texting.  
Clearly the Dib has better things to do than defend his own _planet_. The thought is sudden, hard, and irritating. He grits his teeth and works harder. Finds another damaged chip. This one looks older. Jeez, he needed to check his PAK more often. The work takes all night.

Morning comes, and Zim is closing his locker. As soon as he does, down the hall, he catches sight of him, tall and poorly dressed and talking secretively with another student. That horrid girl from Algebra. She’s blushing. Dib is blushing. He laughs softly. It’s a gentle sound that he almost never uses around Zim and although it hardly carries in the din of the hallway, he nears it.

Zim had thought he’d purged his PAK the night before. He’d worked hard to test it out; replayed the only footage which remained that usually made his spooch swell with that hideous feeling called a crush. He’d felt nothing, then. In fact, he’d felt a sinking sort of apathy all morning and he’d feign triumph at it, but really he’d just been scared.  
Now, he felt that nausea returning. And with it, relief; it's scary, feeling nothing. It wasn’t as comforting as Zim had wanted it to be. Had he been any other Invader (an accomplished one…) he’d welcome that apathy. True apathy was a great trait to have when conquering a planet.  
The girl walks off, waving to Dib. Sheepishly, Dib waves back. Then he turns. Their eyes meet. Zim wonders what his own expression is because Dib’s eyes don’t harden right away to march over to him and demand what’s on his mind. He looks confused. And something else.  
This doesn’t last, though, as Zim’s mouth twists into a look of disgust. He's turning before Dib can speak. He’s not even interested in bothering with the human right now

All day, Dib is distracted and Zim is three steps from committing some violent act on the human. The girl finds Dib before Zim can every time. Once, she opened a locker right into Zim’s face- he’d been marching over to demand why the Dib hadn’t given him the homework he’d promised the day before. He stands in the bathroom later, grumbling about the forming bruise in the middle of his forehead, whether the laborious process of committing and then covering up the murder of this human girl is worth the effort.

Later, he overhears them making plans for the evening. When the girl walks away, it’s Zim who’s been waiting right behind her. Dib jumps.

“Zim! I haven’t seen you at all toda-”

“_STUPID_ HUMAN, I have been trying to get your attention all DAY! What are these plans you’ve made? Are you, as you stupid humans say, _corn-flaking_ on me?”

“What-”

“Did you forget Zim’s almighty BRAIN- MEMORY- ERASING- DEVICE- VERSION- SEVEN is to begin this evening. AT NINE o’CLOCK! Have you forgotten or are you just _dumb_?”

“Oh, it was nine, wasn’t it…” Dib squints, glances around in search of a clock or perhaps, an excuse to leave. “Yeah, you did mention that-”

“Yes, I did, three times, yesterday, the day before, and the day before tha-”

“Can we, I don’t know- come on Zim, give me a break. Whatever the hell that thing was, it didn’t work the first five times you tried it. Can it wait-”

“_What_-”

“Can it-”

“What do you _MEEEAN_ can it WAIT, this is the destruction of MANKIND, your BELOVED HUMAN RACE we are speaking of DIB!”

“Yeah, I know, Zim, but…” he shrugs. It’s a simple gesture but he might as well have slapped him across the face. “You’re always gonna wanna take over earth, so it’s not like there won’t be another day.”  
Those usual feelings of stickiness turn hot and angry. It isn’t unusual for him to feel angry, not at all, but this kind sticks to his lungs and chest. He points at the human with a shaking claw.

“Do not tell me you've other plans-”

“I’ve got stuff to do tonight, Zim-”

His mouth twists into a snarl, “Well then,” his voice lowering to a hissing near whisper, “you and whatever ‘stuff’ you are so busy with better enjoy your final hours on this _miserable _planet,”  
With that, Zim storms off, ignoring Dib’s complaints behind him. And it’s not even out of spite! He’s just suddenly nauseous.

On the third day of this wretched crush, Zim sulks in a chair in his lab. He’s sunk into it, arms crossed tightly over his tiny chest, fingers tapping a frantic rhythm against his own arm. Gir was spinning the chair in circles earlier and he was so caught up in his own fury he hadn’t noticed the walls morphing all around him. Now he’s alone, Gir too bored to keep him company, the computer asleep or elsewhere in the wiring.

There’s not much to do if Dib isn’t planning on stopping him.  
The device he’d threatened the human with had been trashed just three days before. Zim hadn’t had time to move on to bigger better plans, his mind too full, too frantic to focus. In fact, there was a myriad of work within the base he’d yet to get to, and he rarely fell behind in maintenance, in check-ups.  
Zim plucks at his gloves, bunches them up, slides them back on, then takes them off again. He chews the ends of his fingers and tugs at his eyelids in exhaustion. Zim stares at nothing. Usually, his anger has him pacing, kicking, throwing. Working, yelling, finding someone or something to abuse. Now, he’s just tired… And a creeping idea has been twisting in the back of his head for days now. It’s a repulsive idea, disgusting, absolutely _filthy_ but desperate times call for desperate measures...

Zim is familiar with the word courtship. He isn't stupid. He hops off the chair and slides on a coat, for it’s nearly November and Earth is an ungodly planet which chills and heats up in reckless abandon. Courtship is simple, at least, and usually doesn't require the exchanging of fluids. If he is “_crushing_” on Dib, the only way to relieve these aches would be to at least _somewhat _humor the _"crush". _Zim steps out the front door. Courtship is an inferior method for battle but then Dib is an inferior lifeform. Whatever.

  
The walk to the park is quiet and cold. His breath forms puffs of white before him as he stomps his way there. He thinks of the human girl and all her physical attributes. Tall, lanky. Braces. Black hair. Green eyes. Nothing unique. Not that Dib was quite unique himself, no, but… Couldn’t he at least do better? Couldn’t Dib court a human with prowess, perhaps military backing? A general perhaps? But no, any human would just infuriate Zim. None would be worthy.  
And what good was that girl human from Algebra anyway? Has she annihilated the majority of her enemies on the battlefield, has she the knowledge to hack the firewalls of technology, alien or otherwise? Can she _bask _in the blood of _man? _No, no, and no. An unworthy mate indeed but then, Dib has never been that smart. Certainly Zim could nudge him in the right direction... _The right direction, _he thinks, scowling, blushing. Dib should be honored. Zim shouldn’t be blushing as hard as he is.

When he reaches the park, he picks several flowers. Many yellow ones with the fluttery petals that bloom into white puffs humans love to blow on. Dib told him once that you’re supposed to make a wish when you do that. Humans and their petty wishing. They wish on everything. Stars, bones, flowers.  
_You’re always gonna wanna take over earth._ Well, that wasn’t entirely true; Zim was becoming bored by that idea, had in fact, not thought of it very closely in a while. But really, what bothered him most about a statement like that was the other side of it; _I’m not always gonna wanna stop you._  
The idea makes him angry, light headed. Sick.

  
Before he leaves, Zim finds one all puffed out, white and soft. He stares at it hard, believing that a wish will only come true if you concentrate on it so hard you sweat. He stands there for maybe ten minutes, thinking, wishing. Then he blows and the little seeds drift off, and he scowls at himself for having even considered the act in the first place because really, if an Invader wants anything, they should just take it with their hands. He decides he’ll do just that, clutching the bundle of flowers in his fist and marching down the street. He’s got them so tight, they wilt in his hands, but he doesn’t notice. He isn’t anxious. That tightness he’s feeling, that buzz in his spooch, is confidence. He would know. Zim knows confidence. He’s a master of it.

  
He marches right up to the Dib’s door. The sun isn’t out, because he didn’t want to appear and risk seeing Gaz or the Dib-father at such a vulnerable moment. So he’s come here at a proper time of 12:47 am. Past midnight. He pounds on the door with a fist.

After a dozen knocks, he begins to ring the doorbell. Then he rings it again. And again. And aga-

The door is thrown open and Dib glares down at him with bags beneath his eyes.

“It’s nearly one-fucking-AM, ZIM,”

“Zim can tell time, putrid _human_. I am aware of the hour,”

“You nearly woke my sister up,” Dib growls. “What do you want?”

Zim squares his shoulders. He straightens his spine. “I demand you do not crush that wretched human girl in Algebra class.”  
He’s avoiding Dib’s eyes. His cheeks are warm with fever. Dib is glaring down at him.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

Zim throws his arms in the air, already impatient. “That horrible girl in class! She has the crush for you! Don’t lie to me, Zim saw you and her speaking and she showed me a note she wanted me to give you. I tore it up because she is disgusting and annoying and not worthy of your time. Not that I care what- what is worth your time…” He trails off. Dib blinks once. “I demand you end the crush thing. Now.”  
Behind him, a single car passes by. He hears a dog bark. The rustle of leaves in the trees. Other than that it’s silent as Dib stares at him and Zim glares at a spot of chipped paint on the doorframe. He imagines setting it aflame just with his stare.

Dib pinches the bridge of his nose, pushing up his glasses. His hair is in disarray. He’s wearing pajamas, an oversized t-shirt revealing too much shoulder, and stupid flying saucer sweat pants. Zim has told Dib, a million times, that any alien worth anything wouldn’t be caught dead in such an inferior machine. Saucers went out of style four hundred years ago.

“Zim, I swear to Christ. Are you like. Are you jealous of Gretchen?”

Is that who that girl was? Who cared. “What?”

“Are you jealous of-“

“I know not of this jelly-stuffs!” Zim yells.

"This has to be some hallucination, there's no way you're-"

"End the crush!"

“Are those flowers in your hand?”

In his fist, the dandelions have wilted entirely. Most of the petals are missing. Zim stares at them, as Dib stares, too. “... Zim, did you bring me... Flowers...?”

In Invader Training, aborting missions are nearly unheard of, if only because Irkens are violent, brutal, and exert maximum power. Using PAK legs and weapons of mass destruction seems unnecessary; he doesn’t want Dib dead. But then, this mission has failed, he has to surrender, or at least to force the huan to forget this pathetic display of whatever-this-was. Zim isn’t sure _what_ he wants...

“No, they are not flowers, foolish human!” Zim throws them onto the pavement and stomps on them once. He twists his foot- they smear the ground pale green. “Whatever horrible accusation you’re considering is _WRONG_. I simply do not want to see your stupid face mashing up against some other stupid human's face! It’s disgusting and would sicken me!” He laughs once, overloud, pointing, “Did you think I, _Zim_, was considering having the crush on you! Of course not! Never! Zim likes NO ONE, and especially not YOU, inferior-Earth worm! If I were to crush on you, I would- I would simply die! … From disgust.”  
He’s breathless, pointing still, grinning wildly. Dib’s taken a tiny step back. He blinks at him. Opens his mouth. Isn’t sure what to say. _Victory for Zim!_ Although he isn’t sure what he’s won. He’s pretty certain he wanted Dib to put those flowers in a little cup of water on his windowsill. He’s pretty certain he wanted Dib to grab his hands and pull him close and tell him how right he was. Dump the human girl and climb into Zim's voot cruiser and speed off into the vastnes of space with him-

Dib clears his throat. “Are you gonna... leave my house then?”

“Of course I am,” Zim’s already begun to scramble backward, “you better watch your back human. And that Gretchen-girl’s back, too, if you want to keep your pathetic DATE.” And he’s out of there in record time.

A week later, Zim sits in the cafeteria miserable and angry. He pushes his food around and watches Dib with the human girl. What was her name again? Gretcha?

They have nothing in common. He can tell. He watches Dib blush and flounder to impress her. She’s sweet and blinded by perhaps his looks (all humans are ugly and so is Dib but Zim supposes he could, with great effort, understand why a human girl might like him), but soon she’ll find him awkward, annoying, obsessive over the weirdest things. She won’t want to wander the woods for the sasquatch or stake out the neighbor’s house under rumors a vampire lives there. And she certainly won’t wanna harass Zim with him. Even after having known Dib for as long as she has, she won’t get the extent of it. She won’t understand the vital nature of Dib’s stakeouts. If it weren’t for the human, Zim would’ve won by now. None of the humans understood that. No one but Zim.

He’d be a far better crush for Dib. He knew the human nearly as well as himself. Everything that made him tick, which organs were vital and which he could live without. He knew what time the human's stupid show came on and he knew what snacks he preferred the most. How to catch when Dib had gotten sleep and when he hadn't. When he was lying, when he was scared, all his tells, all those little things. That seemed important to a relationship; simply knowing. Not that Zim wanted to be in anything resembling what he was watching Dib do now. It seemed icky and disgusting - but as an Invader, it was vital to consider all possibilities. So consider he does.

It only makes him sicker.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! As those of you who follow me on my zim blog (@deadirken), you know I've had some financial issues which many have been so generous about, so this is a bit of a thank you gift! It doesn't feel like enough, not at all, and I've got others wips to look at, but for now this is the best I can offer until my life gets itself back together!
> 
> I love Zim pining and there isn't enough of it, so, hope this filled the void of zim-centric fics. 
> 
> for those who dont know, I'm in a bit of rut! I'll be out of it soon, but if you're a fan of my fics, do consider sending me a coffee at https://ko-fi.com/R5R610E89 !! Nonetheless, thanks SO much for reading as always! <3


End file.
